Clara
by MarsKilljoy
Summary: Clara is a young tavern girl who is saved by a knight, but what will happen afterwards?
1. Chapter 1

She could feel his arms on either side of her, pressing her into the wall. His breath was burning on her neck, his scent overwhelming her. She had left the tavern only a few minutes ago, her work for the evening was done and she was tired, she wanted to go home. She hadn't noticed the Roman watching her; she didn't know he had been following her down the dark alleys. She had only become aware of him when he had grabbed her throat and pushed her against the wall, her face pressed into the cold stone. She had struggled against him, trying to release his grip but she had stopped as soon as she felt the icy steel of a dagger against her thigh. "Be nice and I might just let you live." He hissed into her hair. She squirmed, trying to get away from him and felt the blade cut into her like a knife through butter. She bit her lip to avoid crying out, the blood was trickling down her leg at an alarming speed, pooling in her boot. She turned her head to look at him; she wanted to look him in the eyes as he defiled her. As she moved round he leant in to kiss her, leaving her cheek burning at the contact. He shifted his hand to the back of her neck and held her to him as his lips hit hers and demanded a response. She remained still which earned her a jab to the ribs with his free hand. He kept trying, forcing his tongue against her tight lips, eventually gaining entrance. She couldn't hold back the squeal of horror as his tongue rounded hers, his hand searching down her dress, ruffling up the skirts. She heard him say something again but it didn't have time to register before her head slammed against the wall again, bright lights popping in front of her eyes. She slumped down the wall, the darkness closing in around her. The last thing she knew before slipping into blissful oblivion was a male voice frantically calling her name.

Lancelot had seen her slip away from the tavern and after the Roman had followed her he decided to keep watch over her. He heard cries of pain and was there in time to see her fall. He raced over, cursing himself for not intervening sooner; he dropped to his knees beside her. He took off his cloak and wrapped it round her before turning to face the Roman. As he looked up something hit him with enough force to make him step back. He recovered in time to see the Roman run at him, dagger in hand. His instincts cut in as her dived to the side, grabbing his own blade from his boot. He was desperate to get revenge for Clara. He loved her like a sister and couldn't stand the thought of her being harmed by anyone let alone a Roman. He was snapped from his thoughts as a blade slashed across his chest, leaving a trail of scarlet. He jumped forwards catching the other man off guard and slammed him against the wall, his fist tight around his throat. He wouldn't kill him yet, he would make him pay first. He drew his dagger across the other man's groin, feeling him squirm beneath his grasp. "I never want to see you abusing a girl again. Do you hear me?!" Lancelot glared at the man, applying more pressure on the knife. "If you do, I might just slip and cut something rather precious." He smirked before spinning the knife in his hand and knocking the man out with the hilt. He turned to Clara and bent down, gathering her unconscious form into his arms, ignoring the pain flickering across his head and chest. Her head lolled against his arm as he ran through the streets to the healing rooms.

By the time he got to the door he was struggling to stand up straight, his head was fuzzy and his chest was aching. He banged his fist against the door, holding Clara close to him with his other arm. Shortly Dagonet came to the door and pulled it open just as Lancelot fell against the wall, the darkness finally winning him over. Dagonet reached out and took Clara in one arm, the other he hooked underneath Lancelot's arms and half carried him with his belt. Dagonet pushed through the surgery, laying Lancelot on the nearest cot; he carried Clara over to the cot by the window, snatching his bag from the side. He laid her down gently, moving the blankets to support her wounded leg while he fetched water and cloths. On his way back over he grabbed a stool and sat himself next to her, carefully laying out the equipment next to him. Carefully he began to wipe away the mud and blood from the cut on her leg, working quickly and quietly he had almost finished when the door was flung open and the rest of the knights appeared. Bors, Galahad and Gawain rushed over to Dag but Arthur hung in the doorway, caught between going to the healer and staying with Lancelot who was still lying unconscious in the cot nearest the door. Eventually duty won over friendship and Arthur moved to stand by Dagonet as he finished suturing the wound on the young girl's leg. Arthur questioned Dag on what had happened but as he knew very little the room soon dropped back into silence as they all looked down at the small form lying asleep in front of them. A few minutes later they were all abruptly jolted out of their thoughts by a cough originating from the bed next to the door. Arthur raced over to find Lancelot slowly stirring from his sleep, his eyelids fluttering as he fought his way back to the light. As Lancelot sensed the dark slipping away from him he tried to open his eyes, ignoring the pounding in his brain but gave up when the pain flared. He tried again, blinking the sleep away and found Arthur and the knights watching him with amused expressions.

"Is this your new tactic then, the knight in shining armour with a warm bed?" Bors laughed at Lance's cold stare.

"No, Bors. I'm just not happy to watch friends be hunted out by Romans."

Arthur stepped forward, his eyes flicking between the knight beside him and the girl at the other end of the room.

"What do you mean Lance? What happened?"

Before he had a chance to answer Dagonet came over and pushed through the knights to get to the bedside, he lay down Lance's cloak and then turned to address Arthur.

"Let me see to his chest and then you can ask all the questions you want."

He leant forward to lift Lance's shirt but his hands were batted away.

"I'm fine; shouldn't you be tending to Clara instead of bothering me?" Lance snapped as Dag scowled at him.

"No, Lance. She's sleeping and you've got a gash across your chest so stop acting the hero and let me deal with it so it doesn't get infected.

"I'm fine, honestly, stop fussing."

Dagonet however was not giving in that easily so continued his ministrations to Lance's wound. Clearly defeated Lancelot turned his attention to Arthur and began explaining the events of the evening.

As Lancelot made his way through the story the knights became slowly more horror struck. Few of them knew Clara as well as Lance but she was well known around the fort and none of them wished ill for a young girl. Usually the Romans did their best not to wind up the knights as they knew it was unwise, to attack one of their friends was just plain stupid.


	2. Chapter 2

A few hours later and the knights had left, some to finish their night of drinking, the rest to try and sleep. Dagonet had retreated into the back rooms of the healing buildings, leaving Lance and Clara alone to rest. Arthur had returned to his chambers lost in his thoughts about the evening.

Lance was struggling to rest, Dagonet had given him strict instructions not to sleep due to a mild concussion but he shouldn't have bothered; Lance was finding it very hard to even relax. His mind kept playing over the events of the evening; he couldn't stop himself from thinking what if. What if he hadn't got there in time? What if there had been more than one Roman? What if the Roman hadn't had just a small dagger? The possibility of being so close to losing Clara was unbearable to him. There was no romance between them but he had grown up with her like a sister and protected her as such. He could never have forgiven himself if she had come to any greater harm; his guilt was bad enough for the injury to her leg.

His musings were disturbed by a small cry from the other side of the room. He slowly got up and made his way over to Clara's bedside, she was tossing and murmuring in her sleep. Suddenly she sat up with an ear-splitting scream, tears streaming down her face. Lance was shocked at first but reached out to grab her hand and gently rubbed the back with his thumb. His words of comfort took time to break through her nightmare state but gradually they took effect and the tears and trembling calmed. Re-opening her eyes carefully Clara looked straight into the chocolate depths of Lancelot's. He gave her a small smile of reassurance and cautiously leant forward to give her a hug. Her body eased in his grip and when he leant back to see she had fallen into a deep healing sleep.

Seeing she had relaxed Lance loosened his grip and made to stand up but was stopped by the force encircling his hand tightening and small whimpers of discomfort.

"Shh, it's ok Clara. You're safe now. I'll stay here for you." Lancelot whispered as he lowered himself back down onto the stool and entangled his fingers around hers. They stayed like this all night, Lancelot eventually resting his head on his arms at the edge of the cot.  
Next morning Dagonet came in to check on them both and found them still together. Being careful not to cause alarm he walked over to Lance and gently shook his shoulders to wake him. Although they looked sweet together he knew that Lancelot would not like the other knights to find him in such a compromising position. Having woken up and realised his location Lancelot was quick to sit up and loosen his hold on Clara, giving Dagonet a look that clearly said 'speak a word of this and you're dead'. Lancelot was very careful to keep up his reputation as a fierce knight; he rarely showed emotions especially tender feelings towards the fairer sex.

Moments after Lance had moved the door burst open and the boisterous and mildly drunk knights barged into the room, impatient to see their brother in arms and know how the fair maiden was feeling. Oblivious to the time they continued their loud ramblings until Lancelot pushed them out of the room and followed them into the street. Once outside Lance put his hands up to silence them and began to answer their questions one by one, finishing by promising that once they were sober and more calm, they were more than welcome to see her for themselves. Having sent the other knights off to bed Lancelot made his way towards Arthur's rooms, knowing full well that the commander would have been thinking all night, he wanted to talk over events and seek protection for Clara.


	3. Chapter 3

Knocking on the large oak doors which led to Arthur's rooms Lancelot thought about what he wanted to say. He wanted to find and punish the man who had hurt Clara but he didn't want the attack to become the gossip of the fort. There was no easy solution he could come up with himself but he had no doubt that Arthur would figure something out.

Arthur came to the door, knowing it was Lancelot. He had expected him to come as soon as he was able with a half hatched plan for revenge. Having been let in, Lancelot followed Arthur over to his desk and sat down. Arthur poured them both a cup of wine and they sat for hours discussing Clara. In the end it was agreed that they would offer her rooms in the knights' quarters and she would be put under the protection of Arthur so it would be a crime to cause her harm or give her unwanted attention.

Clara gave her consent and so it was decided. She moved into the room next to Lancelot and Tristan and was officially protected by Arthur as commander of the fort. All the knights took it as their duty to protect her and she became a sister and friend to them all.

Months later and the fort was peaceful there was no-one to attack as the woads had moved further south. Lancelot had become bored of the constant quiet so frequently rode out into the surrounding fields and forest, working hard on training the new horses. It was on one such ride when he became aware of being watched but was unable to react before an arrow pierced his left shoulder. The distraction meant he didn't see the low hanging branch up ahead. He was knocked from his horse, winding himself as he hit the ground hard. He tried to sit up; his right hand clasped over his wounded shoulder but was pushed to the ground, a sword at his back. Gasping for breath he rolled onto his side as darkness began blurring his vision. The stallion, Firenzo, had raced for home shortly after his rider was unseated, his instincts told him there was trouble afoot and he wanted to help his master, although he wanted to stay by his side, he knew he wouldn't be much use if he was captured.

Lancelot was turned over by a boot to his ribs. The air he had fought so desperately to get back raced from him again. Looking up he saw a red cloak surrounding a shadowed figure, he didn't understand why this man would be attacking him. He was swiftly pulled from his thoughts as a fire seemed to have been ignited in his shoulder; he struggled not to cry out as he twisted his body to look. He had no time to recover from the flare of pain before his attacker stepped forwards and wrapped a rope around his feet. Lancelot's desperate kicks were useless, he only connected once and this infuriated the attacker, making him tighten the rope. The man stooped forward again, with more rope for his hands. Lance didn't care how much pain it caused he would not let himself be humiliated like this, he threw punches with his good arm and tried to keep his other hand out of reach but his fight was cut short when a blow to the temple rendered him insensible. The man rapidly tied his hands together, looping the longs ends of the rope over a tree branch. He then hoisted Lancelot into the air, high enough so only his toes touched the floor, and pushed him against the trunk. Lancelot became frantic as he regained consciousness, he felt himself being strung up but there was nothing he could do to fight it, he thought things couldn't get much worse. The fire in his shoulder had spread down his arm and left side of his body, rapidly becoming more fierce. Infection seemed to have set in and fever would soon follow if he didn't get help soon, which didn't seem likely. This point was emphasised by the man drawing his dagger and plunging it into Lance's thigh, forcing him to take his weight with his arms, despite his wounded shoulder. The pain was excruciating but Lance refused to cry out, the taste of iron filled his mouth as he bit into his lip. The blade was withdrawn and wiped across his tunic mockingly, before delving into his upper arm. Mercifully the darkness finally overtook him and Lance fell limp, sagging on the rope holding him. Seemingly satisfied with his work the man retrieved his dagger, cutting the knight loose from the tree and mounted his horse, disappearing back into the forest.

Tristan and Galahad ran to the stables looking for Lancelot. Arthur had called a meeting but the first knight had failed to turn up and, when asked, no-one had seen him since the day before. Jols looked up as the two knights raced in; he instantly knew why they were there. Firenzo had arrived a few moments before, his flanks covered in blood but it wasn't his own, Lancelot was in trouble. Tristan didn't wait to get Arthur's permission; he tacked up his mare and galloped out of the gates, away into the forest. Galahad ran to the meeting room where everyone else was still seated to confirm what had happened.

Galloping along the track, Tristan kept a sharp eye out for trouble and any sign of Lance. He soon found a dark patch of blood in the leaves, a few metres further and there was Lancelot, lying crumpled beneath a tree. Tristan was shocked by what he could see; someone had brutally attacked Lance and left him to die unhidden on the forest floor. He dismounted and ran over to Lance, carefully assessing his injuries before turning him over. He deftly cut the rope still binding Lance before ripping off a strip from his own tunic and strapping the leg and arm wounds. Sitting him up by his elbows, Tristan bent down and picked Lancelot up, seating him on the front of the saddle before mounting up behind him. He wrapped his cloak around the both of them, sharing his body heat with his unconscious friend, before setting off for home.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I'm so sorry it has taken me this long to update, life has been hectic to say the least, not that that excuses me. :) I'd also like to thank my reviewers CeffylGwyn and Moon Lantern. Anyway, here's the next chapter.

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He held his precious cargo tight against his chest as they raced along the forest path. Lance had become very pale but his forehead burned with fever. Tristan knew infection had taken hold and time was steadily running out. He pressed his mare on harder; he was not going to let Lance die.

Lancelot became aware of movement beneath him; it was the movement of a horse but how if he was lying on the forest floor? He slowly opened his eyes, flinching from the light, to find himself lying on Tristan's mare. His whole body ached and he could feel his stomach churning, he did his best to resist throwing up but the taste of bile was unrelenting and he shifted, trying to alleviate the sickness.

Tristan looked down when he felt Lance stir in his arms and saw his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed profusely. His normally bright eyes were clouded with pain and he shifted tentatively. Tristan recognised the signs of nausea and stopped, dismounting quickly and pulling Lance with him. Lance moved away to vomit as soon as he touched the floor and continued throwing up his last meal until he could only dry retch. Tristan stepped forward as Lance's eyes rolled back in his head and caught him before he could hit the floor. Mounting them both onto his horse Tristan set off again, pushing his mare on, desperate to get Lance to help. Racing along the track they were soon at the fort where the guards had already opened the gate, having seen the men racing towards them. Tristan barely slowed down as they charged through the streets to the healers. When he arrived Galahad and Jols were waiting for him, they had watched him approach across the fields from the top of the wall. They helped him to dismount and carried Lance inside, placing him carefully on a cot. The rest of the knights soon appeared but fell silent as they saw what the commotion was about. Lance's limp form looked more like a corpse than a living being; his skin was porcelain white, his dark features stark against it. The blood from his wounds had soaked his tunic and breeches, staining the fabric deep crimson. The only sign of life was the faint rise and fall of his chest.

Snatching rolls of bandages from the side Dagonet pushed through the crowd beside the bed before ripping off Lance's tunic and applying pressure to the shoulder and arm wound. Looking up he saw the sea of concerned faces, sending Bors to fetch water and Gwain to get the needle he carefully removed Lance's trousers to access the stab wound on his leg. He tied bandages round the wounds to slow the bleeding and then began to search for any further injuries, other than bruising and small scratches there were no other marks. Bors returned with the fresh water moments later and Dagonet was able to begin cleaning the lacerations and dried blood. Lance murmured and flinched at the fresh waves of pain but remained unconscious.

The knights stood around the bed, looking down at the unmoving form of their brother, Tristan had left to find Arthur, he was the second closest to the commander and he knew that Lance being attacked like this would have wounded Arthur deeply but he also knew that Lance needed his friend now more than ever. Walking along the corridors he remembered the last time Lance was injured, Arthur had not left his side for days and had barely slept or eaten, it was only when Lance had ordered his friend to rest that Arthur had returned to his own room. Striding up to Arthur's room he could hear quiet voices inside, Clara must have heard the news and gone to see Arthur about it herself, she was close to Lance and would need comforting, much like Arthur. Tristan knocked gently on the door before easing it open stepping across the threshold. He knew better than to intrude into private chambers but in times like this the commander had given the knights permission to always come in. As he walked in Clara looked up and Tristan could see the tear tracks running down her cheeks, her eyes rimmed with red. Arthur stood up and moved forwards, panic written across his face.


End file.
